


That Primeval Cosmic Night

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On the day that Jason Blossom is taken by Sweetwater River, Jughead starts having really strange dreams. He shrugs them off at first... except Jason's body surfaces a week later and he finds that the dreams were only a sign of what was to come. In their quest for the truth, he and his friends end up stumbling into an unfamiliar world - one where danger lurks in every shadow and the price for the answers they seek may very well be their lives.





	1. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this fic has not been beta-ed so I'm to be blamed for any mistakes you may find.
> 
> Secondly, updates may be a bit slow as this fic is looking like it will be quite the complex undertaking based on my initial assessment so I humbly ask for your patience in this matter. Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading it.

> _“The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul, which opens to that primeval cosmic night that was soul long before there was conscious ego and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”_
> 
> _\- Carl Jung, The Meaning of Psychology for Modern Man (1934)_

For the first time since he started this job, Jughead found himself actually unable to fully enjoy the movie currently playing at the drive-in even though it was one of his preferred choices. Instead, his thoughts kept drifting to his laptop and the beginnings of his story sleeping inside. Random sentences and paragraphs were bouncing around in his head, each vying for dominance even as they spun off to join another or birth new ones.

He actually felt a little guilty about being happy when he finally saw the end credits roll but that faded away quickly. It was moments like these that he was glad he'd gotten so familiar with his job that he had an autopilot mode for it as he went through the motions while his brain continued to churn out idea after idea.

Of course, it was when he was finally seated in front of his laptop with his fingers hovering over the keyboard that he stalled. The problem with having so many ideas, he discovered, was that he had no idea where or how to begin. Apparently the opposite of having writer's block was just as frustrating and he couldn't help but groan as he ran a hand down his face.

Whether they were writing a lengthy novel or a short news article, nearly every writer complained about the gigantic hurdle that was the opening passage. Jughead miserably wondered if being able to commiserate could be used as proof that he was in fact a serious writer and not a poseur. It was an only marginally comforting thought.

Perhaps he could start with a prologue about Jason's life and go from there. Painting the classic picture of a small town's golden boy before everything went to hell in a hand-basket was a tried and true strategy... but would it make his story too stale? He mulled over the idea for a moment before deciding to put it on the back-burner. He could always revisit it at another time.

Mind made up, Jughead began typing out a rough draft of what would be the first chapter. He outlined the setting and whatever scarce details he currently had on hand, highlighting parts he suspected he would have to revise later on depending on what he uncovered in the future. Then he began to set the stage by describing the characters who would no doubt play a central role as the story progressed.

...Which led to him thinking about the one person he had been struggling not to think about since he'd left Pop's several hours ago.

Archie.

As the memory of his now ex-best friend's actions resurfaced, the dark feelings of resentment and anger that went with it once again flickered to life inside him. A part of him – the part that was still a naïve little boy playing in a tree-house with his red-haired pal – wanted to preserve their long-standing friendship no matter what. Another part – the part that had watched his family fall apart before his very eyes and saw the end of said friendship as the natural conclusion of months of them drifting apart – nurtured the bitterness festering inside him.

Feeling his drive to write slowly but surely desert him in response to the dark turn his thoughts had taken, Jughead saved his progress before slapping his laptop shut with more force than necessary. He didn't know the real reason why his supposed best friend had kicked him to the curb and he found that he didn't care. If Archie decided to come clean and apologise later, he would consider putting this behind him. But if he insisted on being pig-headed about it... then their friendship was over for good in his eyes.

A small voice at the back of his head piped up then, asking him if he wasn't just making this an ultimatum because he was rightfully mad at Archie at this moment. They'd been friends since they were kids; surely a decision this important deserved to be made after he'd calmed down? Furthermore, it wasn't like he couldn't have a proper civil discussion about this with Archie instead of leaving the ball in his court without actually telling him that the fate of their friendship was in his hands.

That voice, Jughead noted with a mix of dry amusement and genuine exasperation, sounded a lot like Betty.

At the thought of the third member of their little band, his eyes skittered involuntarily to his phone. He could call her, he thought for the umpteenth time since the day after she'd left for her internship in LA as he unplugged the device and searched for her number in his contact list. The itch was undoubtedly there despite the lateness of the hour – he missed her and just wanted to hear the sound of her voice – and his thumb was hovering over the 'call' button before he knew it.

It was a selfish desire, he admitted as much to himself, and it was that thought which stayed his hand. He was the one who had told her to forget about everything and everyone Riverdale-related and enjoy her time in the big city to the fullest for the summer. Considering he'd followed that up by saying he wouldn't contact her either, he wasn't about to make himself out to be a hypocrite and ruin things for her in the process even if she would undoubtedly deny such a thing was possible.

Calling her while he was in this stupid funk was also a dangerous idea, he knew. Being Betty, she was going to immediately deduce that something was wrong the moment she heard his voice. That would lead to her asking all sorts of questions in that patented 'tell me what's wrong so I can fix it' voice of hers and his pathetic weakness to said voice would cause him to tell her everything. It would begin with his fight with Archie but he was sure that once he started talking, he'd end up telling her about all the other things he'd been keeping from her such as his current lodgings. Then she would worry about him and try to do something about it even if she was miles away and-

No, he decided firmly. He was not about to go down that road and it was that conviction which ultimately drove him to put his phone down, reconnect it to the charger and all but throw himself into his sorry excuse of a bed. The temptation was too great and the consequences of giving in were too dire. It was best if he just shut her out and deal with it all on his own. He was resourceful and he'd done it before; after all, that was how he'd ended up living here in the Twilight's projection booth. (There was also the matter of a small part of him that wondered, not without some measure of justification, if she would go easy on Archie if or when she found out about their argument because of her feelings for him and he was not ready to deal with that if ever.)

Exhausted and frankly fed up with the jumble of thoughts and emotions running rampant in his mind, Jughead screwed his eyes shut and willed himself to sleep, all the while hoping that they did not chase him into his subconscious.

(They did, but not in a way he ever expected.)

 

* * *

 

Darkness.

That was all that greeted Jughead when he opened his eyes... and even that was weird considering he was pretty sure he was dreaming right now.

He looked down and found himself wearing the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd gone to sleep. It was a good sign, he supposed; at least he wasn't naked even if that was kind of a moot point considering the circumstances. Unless of course this was going to turn into one of those ridiculous cliché dreams where he'd find himself walking down the school hallway in his birthday suit.

Of course, looking down also clarified to him that there was no floor – to be more precise, the floor seemed to be made of nothing but solid darkness as far as he could tell. There was no texture to it and it barely felt like he was even standing on anything. He experimentally lifted his right foot and brought it down with as much force as possible but... nothing. No sound and barely any sensation. He might as well have stamped on a lumpy cushion.

“ _What is your heart's desire?”_

The booming voice startled him and he felt his heart jackrabbit within the suddenly tight confines of his ribcage.

“Who's there?” he asked as he tried to look around for the speaker even though it made him feel rather dumb. This was a dream so why did he think that there would be any logic to it such as him getting an actual answer?

True enough, his question was ignored.

“ _What is your heart's desire?”_ whoever it was repeated with not even a slight change in its intonation. Although it was still distorted and somehow prone to echoing in this vast emptiness, Jughead could at least tell that it was male. It wasn't exactly much to go on – and again he wondered what was the point of trying to figure out the details of a dream – but it was something at least.

Just as he was about to speak again, the voice interrupted him.

“ _Revenge?”_

“Wh-”

– _He swung and could not resist feeling a great swell of satisfaction wash over him as his fist connected with Archie's cheek and sent him crashing into the table, the force of the impact rippling back through his arm and reverberating through his entire frame. Sure, it hurt like hell, but he couldn't deny that it was worth it as he looked down on his former best friend's crumpled form on the floor. –_

Jughead choked on air as he tried to shake off the... vision? Fantasy? What the hell had he just experienced? It had felt so _real_... which was _insane_ because this was supposed to be a _dream_. Feeling his right arm throb the way it had in that mind-screw of a trip, he looked down and reeled when he found his fist curled so tight his knuckles were bone-white.

“ _Power?”_

“Wait-” he tried to call out but it was pointless.

– _The tendril of darkness coiled around his left hand as if it had a life of its own. He knew better, though. It bent to his will and his will alone and that knowledge made him feel oh so invincible. Here in this world, he was lord and master of all. He had both the freedom and ability to do as he wished and there was no one alive who could stop him. No one would ever be able to hurt him now, much less look down on him. –_

This time, when he came back to his senses and stared down at his left hand he was horrified to find a wisp of something like black smoke disappearing from around his fingers.

“ _Fame?”_

Even though he knew to expect it by now, it still took him by surprise.

– _His hand instinctively came up to shield his eyes but it was a futile gesture as it did very little to protect them from being bombarded by the flashes coming from the sea of cameras in front of him. A part of him hoped that he wasn't grimacing too obviously for the cameras to pick up while another part of him decided he didn't care if some stupid tabloid ran a picture of him looking like he was impersonating a gargoyle tomorrow. God, how he hated the paparazzi. –_

True to dream-logic, his eyes were still smarting from the camera flashes even after the vision had ended and he tried to shake it off to no avail.

“ _Money?”_

Knowing he was powerless to stop it, he gave up on resisting and just waited for the inevitable.

– _It felt like he hadn't blinked for ages and his eyeballs were about to dry up but he was afraid that the moment he did so, the number printed on the cheque before him would change somehow. There couldn't be that many zeroes, he told himself even as he counted them for the nth time since he was first handed the seemingly insignificant item. –_

That one... that one stung a little, he had to admit. If he could get even a fraction of the amount that he'd seen in that fantasy, how many of his current problems could he solve in a heartbeat?

“ _Love?”_

His head snapped up at that word, and in that split second before the vision hit him he wondered if it was fear or anticipation that he was feeling.

– _Kissing Betty Cooper was everything and nothing like he had imagined. The vast vocabulary that he prided himself for possessing deserted him in this one impossible moment but he couldn't for the life of him bring himself to care. Instead, his brain could only process the sensations firing through every fibre of his being: the taste of her cherry lip gloss, the softness of her skin, the fragrance of her floral-scented shampoo, the warmth of her body pressed flush against his... He was almost sure that this was what heaven was like. –_

“That's enough!” Jughead roared, shaking himself free of that last one with a mix of anger and bitterness. “I've had it with this crap! What's the point of showing me all this?!”

“ _To understand,”_ the voice replied with irritating calmness.

“Understand what?!” he yelled back as he glared daggers at the darkness all around him. He could almost make out a point somewhere in front of him where, paradoxically, the darkness seemed to be somehow thickest for lack of a better word but also appeared to be emitting a ghostly kind of light. There was someone – or something – there, he was sure of it.

“ _You,”_ it answered, and this time he could vaguely make out a soft clinking sound and the gleam of something metallic coming from the figure.

“That's not exactly fair, is it?” he shot back. “You want to know my deepest darkest secrets but I don't even know who you are.”

“ _You already know my name,”_ the voice responded enigmatically. _“You merely have not realised it yet.”_

“Of course, another cryptic non-answer. I don't know why I expected anything else,” he retorted, falling back on his trademark snark to deal with his mounting frustration with this entire situation. Dream or not, he was beyond done with mysterious disembodied voices screwing with his mind.

At that, the voice laughed. It was a disconcerting sound, something halfway between raspy and deep that was made further unsettling by the way it still got distorted and echoed around him. _“In a way, you only have yourself to blame for that,"_ it commented.

He tried to respond to that but just as he opened his mouth, Jughead felt everything around him start to waver and it took him a moment to realise it was likely because the dream was ending.

 

* * *

 

When he opened his eyes, the sun had barely begun to rise. Jughead groaned, feeling for all the world as if he hadn't gotten even so much as a wink of sleep. As he tried to decide if closing his eyes and trying to get a bit more shut-eye was worth the risk, he did his best to forget the dream that had robbed him of his rest. He'd clearly had too much on his mind before he'd gone to bed and that, combined with his creative mind-set, had created that weird... whatever the hell that had been. It most likely meant nothing, and by the time he was shovelling his breakfast down at Pop's he'd managed to forget most of it.

Little did he know that it was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **IMPORTANT REQUEST/ANNOUNCEMENT**  
>  My fellow Bughead shippers, I have a request and (what I hope is) a fun little game (plus a bit of shameless self-promotion):  
> First things first, I'm looking for an artist to draw some companion fanart for this fic. I am willing to "pay" for them in kind: for every piece I commission, I would be more than happy to fulfill two fic requests in return. If you are up for it or know someone who is/would be interested, please let me know. Thank you very much in advance!
> 
> Secondly, I've decided that since I made what AU I'm going for a secret for now, I'm encouraging you guys to make your best guess and let me know in your comments. The prize for getting it right is a fic request. On the off chance that more than one person guesses correctly, I will pick someone at random so that no one has to worry about not being fast enough. I will announce the winner in the chapter with the reveal. Everyone gets one chance (you can change your answer as many times as you like but only your final guess counts) so give it your best shot!
> 
> (Side note: My only "rule" is that the fic requests are PG-rated at best so please bear that in mind.)
> 
> Last but not least, I'd like to announce that I plan to start a multi-chapter Bughead fic in the near future that will be set in the comics-verse so if you're a long-time shipper from the comics era like me who wants to indulge in a bit of nostalgia or a new Riverdale convert interested in seeing our OTP be free of the show's drama/angst/Parents from Hell/etc, keep an eye out for it!


	2. Haunted By Ill Angels Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-ed so any errors you notice are mine (don't hesitate to point them out so I can fix them).

It was an innocuous message – one that was perfectly expected of its sender – and under normal circumstances he would've been happy to receive it.

_[I'm back! Do you want to get a milkshake at Pop's while we catch up?]_

Perfect spelling, proper sentence structure, capitalisation where appropriate and correct usage of punctuation... in other words, yet another flawlessly written text from one Betty Cooper.

Jughead stared down at the message as his thumb hovered over the virtual keyboard, ready to type out a response even though he wasn't sure how to respond. The offer was undoubtedly tempting both in terms of the food and the company. However, there was a strong likelihood that Archie was going to be brought up in the conversation sooner or later and that was a disaster waiting to happen.

He could already see how it would all play out. Betty would suggest that the three of them hang out together like usual and he would make his reluctance to agree to the plan pretty clear. Understandably confused, she would ask if anything had happened between them while she had been in LA. He, being the idiot who was always rendered powerless by the sight of her big doe eyes, would find himself telling her all about Archie cancelling their road trip at the last minute and how they weren't talking to each other at the moment. Being Betty, she would consider it her duty to fix this as she did with everything else in the known universe and that would be that.

No, he was better off avoiding her for as long as possible.

_[Bit busy. Rain check?]_ he typed.

It took less than a minute for her response to arrive. _[Okay then. I'll see you at school.]_

Right. School. He was going to have to come up with a plethora of viable excuses for why he would be avoiding her and Archie there for the next few days. It royally sucked on so many levels. He hated lying to Betty, keeping secrets from Betty and not being able to see Betty – basically three things he was going to be doing all at once. The realisation alone was giving him a stomach-ache.

Sighing, he leaned backwards and rested his head against the wall of his pseudo-home. This meant that he was going to have to be extra careful about when he went to Pop's. The last thing he wanted was to be there at a time when both Betty and Archie would also be present. There was no universe in which that scenario could produce even a marginally positive outcome.

Just thinking about it was exhausting and he dragged a hand down his face in a futile effort to wipe away the lethargy he could feel creeping up on him. He spared a glance at the clock and calculated how long it would take for him to find somewhere nearby where he could get a decent meal since Pop's was not an option for the day. Then he calculated how much money he could spare and morosely wondered if he could survive on stale popcorn and tap water.

 

* * *

 

By the time he finally fell asleep that night after going through an agonising cycle of typing out a few paragraphs only to promptly erase them, Jughead had completely forgotten about the strange dream that he'd had the previous night.

He was of course none too gently reminded of it when he opened his eyes to find himself not lying in his crappy bed but rather standing amidst a sea of darkness.

“Oh, come on!” he groaned out loud. “Not this again!”

“ _You do not seem to like coming here,”_ the voice commented blandly.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he retorted with as much snark as he could muster.

“ _Your sarcasm, while duly noted, will not help you,”_ came the reply.

“Help me? With what?” he asked in frustration. “You won't tell me anything! How about helping me with that first?”

“ _I can tell you nothing. Not until you have decided,”_ the voice intoned.

“Decide what?” he fired back.

“ _What you want.”_

“Well, for starters I'd like to be able to get a good night's sleep without getting asked pseudo-philosophical questions by cryptic voices hiding in complete darkness,” he bit out.

“ _Is that what you desire?”_ the voice asked. _“To continue dreaming?”_

For some reason, the wording of that question sounded... off. He narrowed his eyes. “What's that supposed to mean? And I thought all you were offering was that 'heart's desire' stuff you showed me last time.”

“ _You have the freedom to choose,”_ the voice explained. _“Choose to awaken and the paths before you will remain open. Choose to dream and you will forget all of this.”_

“So basically if I say I want my shut-eye that means all of those visions will never come true because I won't even remember having those options. I'm also going to take a wild guess and say that this means this decision is final,” he hazarded.

“ _Yes.”_ It was the most straightforward answer he'd gotten since the beginning of this ridiculous scenario. For some reason, that just made things even more confusing.

Jughead mulled it over carefully. It seemed like choosing to have his sleep restored to relative normalcy was the smart and sensible thing to do. After all, he had no idea what any of this even really meant; for all he knew, this was just some really screwed-up vivid dream he was having. That was, of course, assuming that saying yes would even make it stop.

On the other hand...

There was something about all this that was just too... real, for lack of a better word, and wasn't that a contradiction of epic proportions? He had the strange sense that there was a great deal of weight behind this decision – something that he couldn't possibly hope to grasp – and he shouldn't make it lightly.

...It was a hell of a lot to think about considering he didn't know what the hell he was even supposed to be signing up for in the first place.

“Okay, look,” he finally said, feeling a headache coming – and briefly wondered how that even worked in a dream. “I feel like this is a really important decision for some weird reason but I don't really think I can make it right now. Any chance I can put it on hold for the moment or something while I think about it?”

“ _I will abide by whatever choice you make,”_ the voice replied.

“Right...” he trailed off, unsure about what to make of the unexpected acquiescence on the part of his usually unaccommodating host, for lack of a better word. “So how about it?”

“ _It can be done,”_ the voice answered.

As if a switch had been flicked, Jughead felt himself get drowsy and the world around him slowly began to fade away. It felt like he was sinking into the darkness and instead of being terrified, he was filled with a sense of calm.

“ _Nevertheless, I must offer you a word of caution.”_ Even the voice seemed so far away. _“The longer you stand at the crossroads, the easier it will be for you to lose your way.”_

 

* * *

 

When Jughead woke up the next morning, he felt unusually well-rested. As absurd as it seemed, the voice had done as he'd asked and left him alone for the rest of the night. It was a strange concept to wrap his head around. Unfortunately, this also meant that there really was something more to these dreams than just his brain finding an unorthodox way to deal with his writer's block. It warranted at least some consideration.

Of course, like most dreams it faded from his conscious mind piece by piece until he had all but forgotten it in its entirety by the time he arrived at school. Instead, his attention was focused on continuing to avoid Archie and Betty whose texts he guiltily ignored with the intention of claiming that he'd left his phone at home. Cheryl's speech at assembly proved to be another convenient distraction and he kept his eyes trained on either her or his laptop. (If his eyes happened to pick out ginger hair and a blonde ponytail during his cursory sweep of the crowd, well, it was purely by chance.)

It was only when he was getting ready to call it a night and go to sleep after managing to churn out a decent number of paragraphs that he remembered the dream and subsequently his conversation with that mysterious voice. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, he wondered once again how he was supposed to accurately weigh the choices before him if he didn't know all the details. The voice had been maddeningly vague about everything except the idea that it could somehow promise him a future of his own choosing. However, it hadn't exactly given the impression of being some wish-granting genie that would make his dreams a reality with a snap of its fingers.

 

Opportunity. That had to be it. The voice was most likely offering the means to achieve his 'heart's desire' as it liked to phrase it and not a guaranteed outcome. Based on that one vision where he'd literally had some kind of otherworldly ability, though, exactly what were the limits of its power, if any?

Jughead groaned and cursed himself as he buried his face in his palms. Why did he have to remember all this just as he was about to sleep and likely find himself dealing with that voice?

“If you're listening,” he said out loud, fully aware that he sounded like a lunatic, “is there any chance you could give me a couple more days to think about it?”

There was naturally no answer. It made him feel like an utter idiot on top of confirming that he was probably insane. Nevertheless, his sleep was dream-free which, while very welcome, just raised more questions when he thought about it the next day. Had the past two nights just been some mind-screw concocted by his brain as a result of everything that had been going on in his life and Riverdale? Was there actually anything to it beyond that?

The questions plagued him throughout the rest of the day and the day after that following yet another dreamless night. He split his attention between them and his writing, only proverbially lifting his head to passively observe his two childhood friends endure their respective Hell Weeks – Betty's had been... eye-catching, to say the least – and the infamous Veronica Lodge integrate herself into his (former?) social circle.

A new kind of normalcy began to assert itself.

Then he had another dream.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Jughead knew that this time was different even before he became fully aware that he was dreaming. Opening his eyes only confirmed it as he found himself standing not in endless darkness but rather a very normal if expensive-looking apartment. He looked around and took in the spaciousness of the residence which was a far cry from the cramped projection booth he currently called home. The differences didn't end there; every single item in the apartment from the furniture to the tastefully chosen decorative pieces screamed wealth and class. Outside, the sounds and lights of the night life of some unknown city filtered in.

“So what do you think?”

The voice that spoke up out of the blue was also different – it was not distorted in any way and thus easy to identify.

No, what was startling about it was its familiarity. Unable to bring himself to believe it, Jughead turned around to find its source and found his suspicions confirmed.

Before him stood Forsythe Pendleton Jones III – in other words, his own self.

The other him smirked at the look of shock that he was undoubtedly wearing. “What's the matter? Surprised you can actually look this good if you ditched the ratty clothes?”

That was definitely not it but now that Other-him as Jughead decided to refer to him had pointed it out, it was undeniable. Aside from the fact that Other-him was wearing nothing more than a pair of pricey-looking jeans and was clearly comfortable with showing off his well-toned body, everything from his gelled hair to his bad boy vibe made him look like a GQ model.

“Who... who are you?” Jughead asked warily.

Other-him raised an eyebrow and slouched against the doorway framing him. “Isn't it obvious?” he asked wryly. “I'm you. Or rather... I'm the you that you could be if you had the guts to take what you wanted for yourself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jughead snapped.

The grin that spread across Other-him's face was a cruel and twisted thing. “It means exactly what it means,” he shot back as he pulled out a cigarette from his jeans pocket and put it in his mouth. Jughead watched as Other-him snapped his fingers and a small black flame bloomed at his fingertips which he used to light his cigarette. “Or are you just pointedly ignoring what's behind me?”

At that, Jughead's eyes focused on the room Other-him was partially blocking. The first thing he noticed was the bed. The next-

He immediately turned his head away and screwed his eyes shut but it was too late. That one glance had been enough to catch the hair colour of the bed's unconscious occupant and he was all too familiar with that particular shade of blonde.

“What... the _hell_... did you do to Betty?” he snarled as he curled his hands into fists and his entire body shook with a mixture of fear and rage.

Other-him merely laughed. “Only what you wished you could.”

“I don't-” he choked. “That is _not_ what I want.”

“You're contradicting yourself by saying that,” Other-him pointed out gleefully. “After all, the only reason you're seeing any of this is because that's what you desire. Unless...” he drawled, “it's details you want.”

“What?! No!” Jughead yelled to no avail, snapping his eyes open to glare at his tormentor while desperately struggling to not look behind him.

“So what is it you want to know?” Other-him taunted. “The taste of her, perhaps? The way she screams your name when she comes? Or-”

“STOP IT!” Jughead roared. “I've had enough of this! I'm leaving!” The futility of it was apparent to him even as he said it – this was a dream, after all, it had to be just a dream – but he knew he had to get away from that twisted version of himself.

Other-him merely snickered. “Watch your step,” was all he said.

“Wh-” the rest of Jughead's question was cut off as he tripped over something and hit the floor with such force that the air was knocked out of his lungs. In his winded state, it took him a while to clear his head and notice what had tripped him.

There was no helping it; he screamed.

Archie's lifeless eyes stared back at him, his face frozen in a perpetual look of dull surprise. A kitchen knife protruded from his chest and the one part of Jughead's brain that remained capable of functioning in any capacity clinically noted that there were multiple stab wounds all over his former best friend's torso. The blood... the blood was everywhere – Archie's clothes were soaked in it as was the carpeting below him... and, to Jughead's horror, his own hands.

His reactions only served to amuse Other-him. “You really shouldn't find this so repulsive. I mean, you hate him, don't you? It makes sense to just get rid of him.”

“This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real,” he repeated as he crawled backwards and away from Archie's corpse, all the while desperately trying to ignore the nauseating smell of blood clogging up his nostrils and the accusing gaze that followed his every move.

Other-him guffawed at that. “But it could be!” he managed to get out in between bouts of uproarious laughter. “Because that's what you want! Admit it already!”

“NO!” he yelled back in a haze of rage, disgust and unparalleled fear. His back slammed into a low table and caused one of the ornaments on it to fall to the floor. Without bothering to identify it, he grasped it with his right hand, raised it above his head and brought it down on his other hand with as much force as he could muster.

Cruel laughter rang in his ears until the moment of impact.

 

* * *

 

Jughead jerked up in bed, a strangled howl of agony trapped in his throat. His left hand throbbed as if it had been run over by a sixteen-wheeler and his stomach roiled painfully. Only a mad scramble saved him from having to deal with a mess on the floor as he made it to the trash can in time and threw up what remained of his dinner. Time seemed to stretch indefinitely as he stayed hunched over it and struggled to keep it together as he continued dry-heaving.

The thought of going back to sleep and being trapped in that dream terrified him to no end but there was nothing he could do about it; the experience had wiped him out and his body demanded rest. As much as he wanted to avoid it, he needed to sleep.

Once his stomach settled, it was with great reluctance and trepidation that he dragged himself back to bed and blacked out almost immediately.

 

* * *

 

In a way, it was a relief to open his eyes and find himself surrounded by all-encompassing darkness.

“ _You were warned,”_ the voice said by way of greeting.

As tired as he was, Jughead still managed a glare. “What the hell was that? And did you know it was going to happen?”

“ _There is little time left,”_ the voice continued as if he hadn't spoken. _“You must make your decision soon or risk having your fate decided for you.”_

He frowned. “Are you saying that if I don't choose, that dream from earlier will come true somehow?”

Silence.

“No,” he spat, drawing what little strength he could from his rising feelings of righteous indignation. “I'm not that person. I will _never_ be that person.”

“ _The minds and hearts of men are weak, their secrets hidden from even those to whom they belong,”_ the voice responded dismissively. _“That you remain in the dark is proof enough where you are concerned.”_

So the darkness was more than just an aesthetic. He wanted to press the issue but suddenly felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him. “What...” he mumbled.

“ _You are in no state to make your decision. Rest for now,”_ the voice observed. _“One day and no more. Think carefully... and then choose wisely.”_

 

* * *

 

Although he was still rather exhausted when his alarm clock roused him in the morning, Jughead was thankful for small mercies – namely, the fact that his hand had mostly stopped hurting and he didn't feel like throwing up. All in all, he considered it a rousing success that he managed to drag himself out of bed, get cleaned up and make it to school.

However, both of his dreams from last night dominated his thoughts throughout the day and he paid little attention to his surroundings. The excited chatter around him about the dance that night and the after-party at the Thornhill mansion barely penetrated the fog clouding his mind. Even his story took a back-seat as he contemplated everything he had in life and everything he could ostensibly have if he made what increasingly sounded like a deal with the devil.

Revenge. Power. Fame. Money. Love. All of the above.

Fittingly, it was when he was seated at a booth at Pop's that night turning everything over in his head while the blinking cursor on his laptop's screen silently rebuked him for his lack of productivity that Archie Andrews walked in looking uncharacteristically dishevelled. The relative silence of the diner allowed him to easily overhear his ex-best friend's conversation with Pop and he could roughly guess what had happened.

Jughead told himself that it was for old times' sake that he allowed Archie to sit down and attempt small talk but a part of him felt the loss of their friendship keenly. It was familiar, both in an annoying and amusing way, how his simple answer that he was writing about Jason's death was immediately spun into an Andrews existential crisis. That sense of nostalgia buoyed him just enough for him to employ his usual snark as he needled his best friend about his football-induced newly elevated status in the school hierarchy.

If he was being honest, it surprised him a little when Archie didn't take the bait but instead led the conversation back to the reason he was even in the diner at that moment. A strange mix of emotions stirred in his heart as he analysed the situation before him – the fractured remains of the Three Musketeers in the form of broken hearts and lost innocence – and thought of his dreams.

He thought of everything he had likely lost and everything he could potentially gain.

Then he took a deep breath and let it all go.

“If you mean Betty,” he started, “whatever happened, you should just... talk to her. It'll go a long way.” He turned away to steel himself before he turned back and continued speaking. “It would've gone a long way with me,” he hinted none too gently. It was the best attempt at extending olive branches that he could stomach at the very least. Besides, was it too much to ask for Archie to meet him halfway?

True to form, however, Archie merely nodded before quietly excusing himself. Jughead let him leave without pushing the matter and told himself that these things took time. With the way things had ended between them, a hasty apology would've sounded hollow and only exacerbated the situation.

No, he decided. This was fine for now.

Sighing, he leaned back against the booth and let his eyes slide shut.

 

* * *

 

_“Have you decided?”_

Jughead idly wondered what it said about his life that he was getting used to this. “Yes,” he answered simply.

“ _What have you decided?”_

“I'll sleep when I'm dead,” he joked but then decided it was safer to clarify his stance a little. “By which I mean you can keep the dream amnesia; I don't want to forget.”

“ _Then answer this: what is your heart's desire?”_

It was the million-dollar question. He thought of everything that had been promised to him, everything that he ever wanted and more. He thought of that twisted version of himself, surrounded by the perverted manifestations of all those dreams.

He recalled, like one did a hazy memory of another life, that fleeting taste of heaven in the form of kissing Betty Cooper and being kissed back, and he let that slip away as well.

“The truth,” he answered instead. “Everything from Jason Blossom's death to the meaning behind these dreams... I want to know it all.”

“ _An excellent choice.”_ For some reason, he sensed that the voice was... pleased.

“So... what do I have to do?” he asked a little uncertainly when no clarifications or explanations seemed to be forthcoming. “Sign a contract? Make a grand statement like 'I choose this fate of my own free will' or something along those lines?”

That last word had barely left his lips when an orb of light materialised before him. He blinked a few times as the light dimmed just enough for him to make out the item emitting it.

An ancient-looking key made of what looked like silver hovered in front of him, its design rather simplistic if not for a few unusual details: its bow floated independent of the rest of the key, seemingly held in place by two unconnected prongs which met to form the stem that connected to a bit shaped like a three-pointed crown.

“ _If it is truth you seek,”_ the voice said, _“you need merely to reach out and seize it.”_

Jughead only allowed himself a moment of hesitation before he raised his hand and curled his fingers around the item, sparing a second to marvel at how it was cold to the touch and its surprising lightness.

“ _Let it not be said that the path you have chosen is an easy one,”_ the voice cautioned as he unsurprisingly found the dream world fading away. _“Danger will hound you at every turn and you may come to regret the decision you have made today. Nevertheless, I will be by your side to the very end.”_

 

* * *

 

Sometime after midnight, a body washed up on the bank of Sweetwater River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still searching for someone to help draw companion artwork for this story so if you're interested or know anyone willing to trade art for fics, please let me know.
> 
> As for the contest, I have realised in hindsight that I haven't actually given you guys a lot of clues to work with so here's a bonus hint:
> 
> guns - cards - masks
> 
> The reveal will be in the next chapter so guess away and see if you can get it right.

**Author's Note:**

>  **IMPORTANT REQUEST/ANNOUNCEMENT**  
>  My fellow Bughead shippers, I have a request and (what I hope is) a fun little game (plus a bit of shameless self-promotion):  
> First things first, I'm looking for an artist to draw some companion fanart for this fic. I am willing to "pay" for them in kind: for every piece I commission, I would be more than happy to fulfill two fic requests in return. If you are up for it or know someone who is/would be interested, please let me know. Thank you very much in advance!
> 
> Secondly, I've decided that since I made what AU I'm going for a secret for now, I'm encouraging you guys to make your best guess and let me know in your comments. The prize for getting it right is a fic request. On the off chance that more than one person guesses correctly, I will pick someone at random so that no one has to worry about not being fast enough. I will announce the winner in the chapter with the reveal. Everyone gets one chance (you can change your answer as many times as you like but only your final guess counts) so give it your best shot!
> 
> (Side note: My only "rule" is that the fic requests are PG-rated at best so please bear that in mind.)
> 
> Last but not least, I'd like to announce that I plan to start a multi-chapter Bughead fic in the near future that will be set in the comics-verse so if you're a long-time shipper from the comics era like me who wants to indulge in a bit of nostalgia or a new Riverdale convert interested in seeing our OTP be free of the show's drama/angst/Parents from Hell/etc, keep an eye out for it!


End file.
